


Striking Fate

by LynMars79



Series: Aeryn Striker [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Backstory, Eden's Verse, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, Heavensward, Midlander Hyur Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Pre-Relationship, Role Quest Spoilers, Stormblood, Tumblr Prompt, a realm reborn, character cameos, friendships, letter writing, multiple POVs, shadowbringers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:35:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 19,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24132940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynMars79/pseuds/LynMars79
Summary: Prompts for gatheredfates' first 30 day WoL-focused writing challenge on Tumblr.Tags added as needed; not tagging individual characters though as some only pop up once. Now with a Table of Contents to summarize events/characters in each entry.
Relationships: Warrior of Light/Thancred Waters
Series: Aeryn Striker [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632130
Comments: 32
Kudos: 31





	1. Table of Contents

The first of gatheredfates' Tumblr "seaswolchallenge" prompt lists. This took me closer to 45 days than 30, but whatever.

These do jump all over the game timeline and into various side content, so beware of spoilers through _Shadowbringers_ 5.2. They can also be found on my Tumblr, [autumnslance](https://autumnslance.tumblr.com/).

1 **Omen** : Emet-Selch reflects on the First’s waking as the Warriors of Darkness arrive. Vaguely inspired by the opening of _The Black Company_ series.

2 **Unspoken** : Aeryn’s stepsister Rashae goes over letters from the Warrior of Light and determines her little sister is an idiot about certain colleagues.

3 **Break** : A list of broken things, and one she can still try to mend.

4 **Whimsy** : Lyse gets a key to Aeryn’s private apartment in the Goblet.

5 **Sacrifice** : Backstory of Aeryn and her stepfather putting their own lives on pause for the end of her mother’s.

6 **Shattered** : Shiva, Ysayle, and Eden’s Verse. Short and abstract.

7 **Tomorrow** : Aeryn convinces Thancred to take a break. It goes well (rewritten/expanded on in [_Unexpected_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417882/chapters/61642573)).

8 **Confrontation** : Nightmares about Zenos and the inevitable.

9 **Infinity** : Aeryn’s perspective on Alpha’s run to the final battle with Omega.

10 **Sacred** : Aeryn doesn’t believe in gods anymore, but there are certain things she does still believe wholeheartedly.

11 **Pillow** : A restless night without her favorite pillow.

12 **Keep** : Small prayers from the First for the Warrior of Darkness.

13 **Healing** : Rielle and Aeryn, post-”Requiem” after falling in battle, and tempting fate at the start of the _Stormblood_ Dark Knight quests.

14 **Gods** : Arenvald learning about primals from the Warrior of Light.

15 **Wonderful** : A brief reaction to the finale for the Crystalline Mean quests.

16 **Hello** : Various meetings between Thancred and Aeryn.

17 **Gentle** : The Doman Adventurers get in serious trouble and see another side of their friend, the Warrior of Light.

18 **Kiss** : Three moments in a relationship.

19 **Judgement** : Remembering the original Ramuh’s words a world away.

20 **Laugh** : Haurchefant takes his sad Scion guests on a snowy outing.

21 **Memory** : Cyella’s reflections as she prepares the Virtue Hunters for the Warrior of Darkness’ arrival.

22 **Salvation** : Thancred’s thoughts in the night after Amaurot.

23 **Loyalty** : Captain Ilberd tries to suss out where and why the Warrior of Light’s loyalties lie.

24 **Drink** : Hien is cornered by Dark Autumn and C’oretta, for a favor pertaining to Aeryn’s comfort at the Alliance Council meeting.

25 **Home** : What the word means to Aeryn.

26 **Chocolate** : After the star showers, a friend needs help getting used to the new reality of her situation.

27 **Farewells** : Saying yet another goodbye before waking Omega.

28 **Forgiveness** : Level 80 Dark Knight short abstract.

29 **Letter** : Thancred gets a letter while half the Scions are in the Far East.

30 **Metamorphosis** : Bremondt notes the change from new adventurer to Warrior of Light.


	2. Table of Contents

In hindsight, the signs should have been more obvious.

There were sudden mass beachings of schools of fish covering Kholusia’s shores, the stench even reaching to the balconies of Eulmore. Fancy walls of plants imported from the fringes of Il Mheg withered and died en masse. Sheets of rock fell from the cliffs splitting the island, burying a few minor settlements in rubble. A sudden swell of water from Zodiark knew where flooded the plains and drowned flocks of birds and herds of bison, driving yet more supplicants to Gatetown.

But those things happened most years, if not usually all at once or in such dramatic manner. As if the land were waking from its Light-imposed aetheric slumber in anticipation of change.

The Scions arriving was definitely an omen.

He had done a double-take at the fair-haired man in a white coat when he caught him skulking about the Derelicts, asking questions. He knew that face, had seen one of his oldest comrades wearing it for a very brief time–before _She_ had interfered.

At first he thought it a doppelganger; they happened from time to time. But the tattoos on the man’s neck were as unmistakable as his naked soul’s aura. As they were on the elf and the blind mystel when they appeared. The brats didn’t have tattoos, but they were no less unique in all the bloody shards of their fractured reality.

He sent men to a certain burial site and had them dig up the bodies there, then convinced Vauthry to imbue them into powerful sin eaters, to instill fear and hopelessness against the actions of those tiresome meddlers.

Lahabrea’s former host stole the current little Minfilia right from under his nose. Cheeky bastard.

The witch and Elidibus’ failed project fought off the sin eater incursion meant to bring Rak’tika’s scattered populace to their knees. How annoying.

He wasn’t sure what the brats were up to, but it was certain: Her Champion would be coming. If for no other reason than to retrieve the Scions, their souls obviously here by accident rather than choice, but shadows _bless_ if they weren’t determined to cause problems on purpose while present.

A shoebill sat on the roof a few fulms away, glowering at him even though he was hidden from mortal sight. The damned birds seemed to be everywhere these days. He supposed it fitting they be drawn to him; in other times, other places, they were associated with death as he had once been–and would be again.

He should have been better prepared, he mused, as he watched the Warrior of Darkness and other Scions run from Laxan Loft. There had been omens, if he had thought to look. As usual, in retrospect, they seemed abundant.

Ah well. Time to get to work; he had an idea, and the Champion would serve the grand plan–one way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((With apologies to Glen Cook, as this is somewhat inspired by/riffing very loosely off of the very first few paragraphs of the first _The Black Company_ novel.))


	3. Unspoken

Rashae had long learned how to read between the lines of her younger stepsister’s letters.

_“There was a disruption in the throne room during the council meeting but we managed to settle everything. Especially thanks to some quick thinking from Lyse who got just the help we needed.”_

There had been danger–perhaps an assassination attempt?–but Aeryn and her comrades had stopped it.

_“We finally found Omega, but the old machine is rather more intelligent and stubborn than we realized. It wants to conduct a series of tests before cooperating. We have no choice but to assist. The simulations it creates are certainly lifelike and while there is some combat involved it’s nothing I can’t handle.”_

A dangerous Allagan weapon was running amok and sending its killer creations after Aeryn and her friends. Just wonderful; and worse, the traders Rashae plied for information knew nothing of it. Usually she could glean some minor knowledge of Eorzean affairs from her traveling contacts, though many of the stories were surely exaggerated, the truth somewhere between the wild gossip and Aeryn’s careful letters.

_“The negotiations ended in treachery. That snake Asahi used a Kojin relic to summon a minor primal. Nothing that I couldn’t handle given the limited aether, but enough to cause issues between Doma and the Empire again. Their goal all along. And worse yet Tsuyu is dead, truly this time. Gosetsu mourns and has gone on a pilgrimage…”_

That one was mostly true, though the way the pen marks jerked and blotted across the page, there were details too painful yet for her little sister to disclose, or too complicated–or dangerous, or all of the above–to commit to paper.

_“I don’t know what to do. None of my studies help. None of our contacts and colleagues can figure this out. They are simply **gone** and we are left with empty still shells and I feel like After the Banquet all over again. I sometimes sit in the infirmary late at night hoping for some stupid miracle like always happens around me for them to wake up but they don’t. I’m scared they never will. If I find the source of that Voice I might just kill him. After making him give them back.”_

Oh, Aeryn. Rashae knew the source of that suppressed anger too well. And how her sister waffled too long on saying what needed to be said. The scratched out words before some of the “thems” and “theys” said as much as the lines scattered throughout other letters had whenever speaking about one colleague in particular, the first to fall to this strange malady.

_“We spoke all night practically. At least last I recall the chronometers were chiming an embarrassing hour before we fell asleep in our chairs.”_

_“We hadn’t danced like that since Before the Banquet. I was dizzy from so much spinning (the Ala Mhigan dances are extremely vigorous you’d enjoy them) but Thancred kept me steady as always. Knew when I needed to get away from all the crowds and noise too. We ended up watching the revelry from atop the old temple and he told me stories Yda had told him about Mhigan legends and folklore…”_

_“I surprised him with a picnic on a roof in the city while we waited for the meeting. He seemed shocked that I had packed his favorite foods as if I hadn’t had plenty of opportunities to notice after all this time. We spent the afternoon playing Triple Triad and I swear someday I’ll rein in my impatience and win a hand against him.”_

_“All right you win. I understand what you mean now about how just the right look can make your toes curl in anticipation. I can just imagine your smirk, sister, and await the ‘I told you so’ response.”_

_“I think I’ve written him as many letters as I have you while we’re here in the East again. There’s just too much I want to talk about that doesn’t feel the same as with the twins or my other friends. Much as I enjoy our friends and adventures here I want to be back at the Stones. We’re going to start reading stories together from that book I never did return…”_

_“I want Thancred to find Alphinaud and bring him home. Barring that stick to his side like glue until whatever’s happening in the Empire is settled or I have to go in there to fetch them. And I will if I must. I just have the terrifying feeling like I’m not going to see either of them again…”_

_“I feel as helpless as I did after the Vault. ~~What if his soul never comes back from this theft?~~ I hate waiting but no one’s letting me do anything else right now.”_

Rashae shook her head. The top of her pen tapped the inkwell rim as she thought. Ever hesitant to speak her mind aloud, their dear Aeryn, unless one knew to ask or goad directly. Getting her to speak her _heart_ was even more difficult. It had been too much to hope she had learned her lesson after that Banquet, or that horrid incident at the Vault, or in any of the moments of danger since, that Aeryn tried not to let Rashae know too much about.

But Rashae knew how to read between the lines. She was of half a mind to go to Eorzea, as she had considered at various times before. But her own family and responsibilities held her as surely as that realm held Aeryn, keeping Rashae from swooping in to offer in-person comfort to her sister–and give her a good kick in the pants for leaving certain things unspoken.


	4. Break

Furniture strewn about the Waking Sands common room and hallways.

Pieces of the master’s staff scattered around the Rising Stones’ Solar.

Smashed linkpearls in an Ul’dahn alley, a cracked wand in an old waterway.

A Fortemps shield on the Vault’s ramparts.

A dedicated servant and a certain young noble’s nose as snow fell over the reminders of the riot.

The Steps of Faith, blood and smoke hanging in the air for days.

A child too late to save his family.

A Legatus’ blade in defense of an enemy.

A sister’s heart as light formed over the Wall.

A snapped katana blade as the Reach burned.

A castle sacrificed for freedom.

An old samurai’s heart and a fleeting hope for peace.

An ancient machine that just wanted to follow its programming and return home.

The remnant of a world that limped along under a burning sky, the result of a man doing the right thing and never imagining such consequences, his own resolve and hope crumbling alongside the lands he had once known.

She had seen too many things break. This last, at least, she could still attempt to repair.


	5. Whimsy

Aeryn’s private apartment was not exactly what Lyse had imagined.

Aeryn’s room in the Rising Stones was not unusual; a plethora of rugs covering the stone floors, shelves of books, some alchemical concoctions, musical instruments, a work desk strewn with paperwork and journal notes, an easel and paints, and lots of lamps and curtains drawn away from windows to let in the light. It was comfortable and lived in.

She kept few, if any, mementos of her adventures on hand, however; a banner here, a picture there. Innocuous things, mostly, or gifts directly given. Some among the junior Scions assumed that she kept many souvenirs and trophies in that little personal apartment her friends managed in their own building in Thanalan.

Lyse had been given a key and an offer to rest there while conducting Alliance business in Thanalan on behalf of the Resistance, since Raubahn was busy at the front and Lyse’s former days as a Scion meant she was familiar with the various city states and their leaders. Not to mention her own continued recovery, but she thought everyone was making too much of that. Still, it would be nice to stay in Aeryn’s apartment, rather than an inn room. The Quicksand was just too damned noisy.

As she entered the small apartment, Lyse mused that she had expected many things; what she had not expected were _carbuncles_.

Not the actual arcane familiars, but rather their images in the various decorations around the space. From a soft plushy rug on the white tile floor to a couple of overstuffed armchairs to a table cover to desks to the wardrobe and gods bless, that was the cutest bed Lyse had seen in awhile.

Rather comfy, too, with fluffy down pillows and quilts that more than kept out the desert night’s cold.

There were carbuncle lamps and even the bath had shaped fittings and Lyse couldn’t help but wonder if Aeryn had gotten the ananta’s aid for that as she made use of the amenity.

Still no trophies or rewards for Aeryn’s many triumphs and tribulations across the realm, though; cute stuffed figures on shelves, some cheerful wall hangings, magically preserved flowers, a few of Aeryn’s own paintings. Plenty of books, and the closet was actually in decent order, a few familiar outfits, armor, and weapons left carefully stored here as needed.

The kitchenette off to one side seemed thankfully free of carbuncle-fication, and Lyse made herself some tea, looking around the room. Compared to the dark, solid stones of both the Waking Sands and Rising Stones, this was positively airy. A bright, sunny space with even fewer reminders of adventures and perils faced. A whimsical getaway when things became too much.

Sinking back into a comfy chair with a fluffy pastel blanket and a book Aeryn had recommended once, Lyse could completely understand. 

Alliance business could wait a little longer, she decided. Her friend had given her a key, and Lyse was going to spend the day making the most of it.


	6. Sacrifice

Tanzel breathed a sigh of relief as the last crate was away, the last chocobo stabled, the last wagon parked. He had stayed behind to ensure all was right with the stabling as his house did not need to be reopened, now that the caravan had returned from the late summer route and wouldn’t leave again until the harvest pass in two months.

The joyous welcomes and reunions had happened when they had pulled in that afternoon, but now he could go home for real, looking forward to a hot bath and a warm meal. Emelia and Aeryn had stayed, due to Emelia’s poor health and Aeryn’s studies, and while he had not liked how much thinner and paler his wife had seemed, she had assured him she felt fine enough to properly welcome him home.

When he entered the kitchen, however, he saw only his stepdaughter. Aeryn smiled wanly as he entered. “Get cleaned up, Papa, supper will be ready by the time you’re done.”

Tanzel nodded, pulling off his boots. “Where’s your mother?”

Aeryn took a thoughtful moment to answer; not unusual for her. “She went to bed early. She over-excited herself with everyone’s return and had to go rest.”

“She’s gotten worse, hasn’t she?” He cursed himself. He should have stayed, despite Emelia’s insistence. Rashae and her husband could have handled their family’s wares; Tanzel could have found something local to do to make up for the lost income.

Aeryn said nothing, but when she looked his way again, he noticed the deep shadows under her eyes. She nodded before turning back to her tasks. “She has good days,” Aeryn said. “She’ll do better now that you’re home.”

He hoped so. He set his boots aside and stood. “Well, I’m going to get a bath, and when I come back down, you can tell me about your recent studies as we eat, eh?”

She fumbled for a moment, but recovered, her shoulders hunched with tension. Tanzel frowned. “Aeryn?”

“I…don’t have studies anymore,” she said, so quietly he had to strain to hear.

“What do you mean?”

She was turned completely away. “I gave it up.”

He stared. “Gave up?” The idea seemed ludicrous. “You’ve put years into—”

“And gotten nowhere,” she hissed, a bit of her fire briefly returning. “It just…Mama needs me here. So I sold my books to another student, to get back a little of their cost. It…it’s the right thing to do.”

He wondered how much Emelia had encouraged Aeryn to sacrifice her studies; his wife had never wanted her little girl to follow her elder brother into the life of an adventurer. Tanzel cleared his throat. “I see,” he replied. He would have to talk to Emelia about this. “Perhaps you can try a class or two this winter,” he suggested.

Aeryn did not respond. He almost said more, but simply nodded and left the kitchen.

Emelia had once said, in a moment of bitter memory, that Coerthans were made of sacrifice. His young stepdaughter seemed to fit that mold, despite it only being half her blood and having left that land as a child. She would do anything and everything for those she loved, he knew–even at cost to herself.

He wouldn’t leave again, he determined. Aeryn wasn’t the only one in this family who could make sacrifices for the sake of others.


	7. Shattered

The ice shattered. Only two women stood in the cold of the amphitheater, not a god and a godkiller.

The ice shattered. She ran to defend her fallen companion from the god that still loomed, and accepted his challenge.

The truth shattered her friend’s convictions. She offered what comfort she could, but there was a war to end–the hope for peace scattered on the wind like diamond dust.

The ice shattered. Her sister fell.

The shade shattered. Through the pain of his rage, a warm laugh and a cool smile reminded her: they were not alone in trying to save their friend and end the war.

The ice shattered. Only two girls sat in the cold of the plateau, neither gods nor oracles. She watched them and marveled at how a small piece of her own oft-shattered heart seemed to mend in the warm wake of their laughter.


	8. Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationship fluff

Thancred’s gear was spread over one end of the table in Aeryn’s room, and he frowned at the state of it. Mostly general wear and tear, but the battle with those creatures in Eden’s innards had been rougher on them than he had thought.

He spread a towel over the tabletop and set to stripping down the gunblade for repairs and cleaning, carefully placing each part in specific order. Somewhere behind him, Aeryn was rummaging in her overfull closet. Her own weapons had been left on the bench near the door, he noted. “Were you going to put away your gear?” He asked.

“They’ll keep ‘til tomorrow,” she replied, poking her head out from behind a wardrobe door.

Thancred grunted a response and reached for his toolkit, but frowned as he caught sight of a tear in his cartridge belt and picked that up instead. It was not a small tear, either, and it was frankly a miracle that the belt hadn’t given out at a bad time. “I’m going to have to drop by the Mean and get this repaired,” he grumbled.

“That can wait until tomorrow,” Aeryn said as she crossed the room, barefoot from the sound of it.

He set the belt back on the table. He supposed she was right, though if he hurried he could still get to the proper Facet today. He reached again for the toolkit, but Aeryn snagged it first. “I need that—”

He finally registered that she was wearing a rather airy little night dress, straps leaving her arms and shoulders bare, the skirt brushing only mid-thigh. “…Ah.”

She was blushing already, but still managed a grin as she wiggled the case. “You were saying you need this?”

He leaned back in the chair, hands raised in defeat. “…Tomorrow,” he answered.

She set it down–out of reach, he noted–and straddled his lap, running her fingers through his hair. “Thought you’d say that.”

Thancred wrapped his arms around her waist. “You’re not usually such a forward minx,” he teased.

She shrugged, even as her blush deepened. “There are some who thought you were working a little too hard during our last trip to the Empty.”

“That so? Promised to see that I relax, did you?”

“Not in so many words, but that’s the idea.”

“If anyone worked too hard and needs to relax after all that—”

“Thought you’d be happy to volunteer,” Aeryn said, leaning close.

“I suppose we’re not going out again, nor is anyone expecting us until—”

“Tomorrow,” she whispered as he pulled her in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The longer, spicier NSFW version is found in _[Unexpected](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25417882/chapters/62403610)_.


	9. Confrontation

> _War born of strife, these trials dissuade us not…_

Fire fell from the sky, people running through the city in terror, buildings falling around them.

Sometimes the buildings were Amaurotine. Sometimes Ishgardian. Sometimes Limsan. Sometimes Ul’dahn. Sometimes Doman.

> _Words without sound, these lies betray our thoughts…_

Zenos stood across the burning square, that focused smirk on his face. He wasn’t in his armor; a coat draped across his shoulders over a half-open shirt, a katana in each hand.

Aeryn tried to ignore the pounding in her chest. Amaurotine bodies lay around them. Garlean soldiers. Her friends in the Alliance Council. Her Scion family.

> _Mired by a plague of doubt, the Land, she mourns…_

“Come, my dear beast,” Zenos called. “The hunt is not yet over!”

Aeryn sneered in response, resisting the urge to draw her rapier. “I’m not yours,” she snapped. “The only beast here is you!”

> _Judgement binds all we hold to a memory of scorn…_

She tried to leave, the Twelveswood burning around them, but he rushed her, blades drawn, and she had to counter him, sparks flaring as metal clashed, Hydaelyn’s voice echoing relentlessly in the air as the stars fell and they danced back and forth across the broken plains of the world.

> _Hear…Feel…Think…  
>  (Feel what? Learn what?)  
> (See what? Hear what?)_

Her sword broke. His pair crossed at her throat as he leaned close, speaking in a rumbling whisper.

“Ours is a fated battle I ever look forward to, Warrior of Light and Darkness.”

The blades cut through her neck.

* * *

Aeryn jerked awake, crying out and clutching her throat, a cure spell forming on instinct. She panted and looked around.

Her room in the Pendants. The windows were open, letting in the night air. All was quiet, the air cool and still.

She flopped back on the mattress, staring up at the dark ceiling as her heart tried to slow. Eventually she rolled to her side and sat up, still shaking as she rose.

Water wasn’t going to cut it; she started a kettle of tea and poured a glass of wine in the meantime.

As she waited for the kettle, she stood at the window, sipping from the wine glass as she watched the stars wheel overhead, comforted again by the same sky she could see from her bedroom window in the Rising Stones, when she returned to the Source.

_He will be waiting there._

Aeryn closed her eyes and tried a calming breathing technique–a mummer’s trick Jenomis had taught her, a way the actors calmed their nerves before stepping onto the stage.

Would that the stage she played upon be so simple as the Majestic Imperial Theater Company’s.

She wished she didn’t know Zenos was back. Estinien had to tell her, of course, and she believed him, but what she wouldn’t give for the peace of thinking Zenos dead.

She recalled the Sahagin elder again, and realized she’d always known it was never going to be so simple. She simply hadn’t wanted to admit it.

Aeryn would have to confront Zenos again. That was certain.

She could only hope to find a way to make it the last time–and that she would survive it.


	10. Infinity

It was too much.

She clung to Alpha and shut her eyes against the endless expanse of stars.

She could not shut out Omega’s droning voice, recording the interminable journey and the damages it suffered as it chased Midgardsormr across space.

There was no point of reference, no landmark or goal she could find. Just cold, empty darkness and distant stars.

She had a sudden fear, and risked reaching over to see if Cid was still there. She had to reach slowly, carefully, not losing her own hold on the running bird. She couldn’t just speak; Omega might realize they still lived and do something to Alpha for it.

Her fumbling finally touched the solid warmth of Cid’s arm.

She let out a breath of relief, the puff of steam barely noticeable. She quickly found his hand, and they laced their fingers together and in the chocobo’s fluff, holding on as Alpha ran them across infinity to the final confrontation.


	11. Sacred

Aeryn did not believe in the gods any more.

It had been a long time coming; her duty as the realm’s foremost primal slayer had often left her questioning the concept of divinity, of what made worship of the Twelve more justified than the beliefs of the so-called “beast tribes.” Especially after what Louisoix had attempted at Carteneau, and all the Scions had learned since of the true nature of primals. What made the Eorzean beliefs in the Twelve any more or less correct than the Eastern kami? Than the beliefs of the people of Thavnair, or the lands beyond the western sea?

After all she had seen and learned on the First–things in her deepest heart and instincts she knew were true in some way–that final, fragile veneer of belief had shattered.

Even the Crystals were simply instruments of man’s will.

She had only told Rashae of her loss of faith, in letters. She wasn’t sure how to broach the topic with the other Scions, many of them in their own ways faithful. She absolutely couldn’t discuss it with her friends in Ishgard; they already struggled with her not adhering to Halonic dogma despite being born Coerthan.

So she remained silent, and respectful; after all, if belief gave others a foundation for their hope and courage, who was she to naysay that? This new outlook was her own to figure out and contend with.

Aeryn did not believe in gods any more–yet some things remained sacred.

She took a breath outside a door that had remained locked for moons, only opened occasionally, specifically, and entered only by those appointed. This was the first time she had even been given leave to enter, but circumstances required it.

The mother couldn’t bear to. The brother was still trapped a world away.

If the gods were naught but the creations of people, then people were where Aeryn would put her faith and trust and hopes. That made the remembrance of those lost all the more important, that the lessons they taught and dreams they left behind guide those who came after.

Aeryn opened the door to the Antecedent’s personal chamber.

The room Minfilia had once inhabited was more or less as she had left it before departing that final time for Ul’dah. It had been mostly ignored by the Crystal Braves when they had overtaken the Rising Stones, untouched by those imprisoned in their own headquarters. The room had stayed empty since, waiting in quiet suspension for such a time its occupant might return.

She shouldn’t have made that promise to return, there in the aetherial plane. Who could have known then? Never make a promise you can’t be sure you can keep. It left fewer scars on survivors’ hearts.

Aeryn knew that better than anyone by now.

She set to the task of cleaning, sorting possessions that would never be reclaimed and so would be repurposed, given away, or saved as mementos by those in need of them. Relics to channel their memories and give comfort as they recalled the woman who had been so much more than the story she had become–a holy beacon of faith and hope for another world.

Here, Minfilia had been their leader, their friend, their sister.

Aeryn no longer believed in gods. If divinity lay anywhere, it was in the hearts of people, and the dreams they could make reality. For some, that took the form of primal gods, anthropomorphizing their need. For others…

She returned to the common room and looked around. Krile and Alianne discussing at a table. Ephemie and F’lhaminn at work in the bar, Isildaure making them laugh with some story. Riol speaking with Arenvald’s team over linkpearl. Tataru humming as she worked on her ledgers. The Cockburne sisters arguing in the training area. Coultenet and the Boulder brothers tromping in, tired but grinning after a successful mission. And a world away, the twins and the archons went about their duties piecing back together Norvrandt in the wake of the night’s return.

The Scions of the Seventh Dawn, continuing on with Louisoix and Minfilia’s dreams.

Some things remained sacred.


	12. Pillow

She could admit she kept an excessive number of pillows and cushions on her bed. Heavy quilts and comforters also suited her best. Even in warmer climes, being surrounded by thick, downy bed covers and pillows felt safe and familiar. A sense she was home, perhaps, after time spent in camps and inns.

It gave her something to lean on, especially when reading. On the very rare occasions her head was stuffed up while simultaneously running like a faucet, propped up by her pillows and quilts felt better than laying flat. Many times she’d wake to find herself hugging one of the larger pillows, supporting her frame as she lay on her side.

She was coming to realize it was a poor substitute as she tried to find a pillow combination that suited how she wanted to sleep tonight. None seemed to be the right size, or shape, or firmness she desired. It took far too long to admit–even to herself–that the pillow she truly wanted to curl next to and lay her head upon was a certain man who was currently out on a mission, with no certain date for when he would be coming back.

She flopped back flat on the mattress and frowned at the ceiling. This had never been a problem before, and she certainly had not anticipated it becoming one. Another unexpected shift; small in the grand scheme of things, yet somehow monumental in the moment and what it might mean going forward.

Was he as restless and uncomfortable tonight as she was? Was he missing her the same way?

Would he return soon?

She sighed, adjusting herself among the pillows and blankets once more. Even when he did, it would only be temporary; their lives and duties often demanded separations of this sort.

As she settled into a position that was almost comfortable, she resolved that she would be sure to make the most of the time they had when he returned, and at the least get in a restful nap with him as her pillow.


	13. Keep

Now I lay me down to sleep  
I pray to the Oracle my soul shall I keep  
If angels watch me in the Light  
Warrior of Darkness please cover me with night

Rainbows dance and leaf men creep  
Our broken king cries within the keep  
Our play is merry, our joy still bright  
But Warrior of Darkness we await the night

Under shaded boughs I weep  
For the sunless sea of stones we keep  
I pray for an end of eater might  
When the Warrior of Darkness brings the night

Mountains are heavy, sand and sea water seep  
While great lords revel in their decadent keep  
If angels turn to me their blighted sight  
Warrior of Darkness I beg you return the night

Now I lay me down to sleep  
In crystal do our hopes we keep  
When angels bring to us the fight  
Our Warrior of Darkness shall end the Light


	14. Healing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Aeryn did DRK StB quests rather late…))

“Are you sure you should be doing this?” Rielle asked as they closed the door to the room.

“I can’t exactly patrol in my regular clothes,” Aeryn answered, going to the closet. Rielle and Sidurgu’s flat didn’t exactly have a lot of space, but they kept some of Aeryn’s armor and weapons regardless.

It was easier than trying to explain her study of the dark knights’ path to the Fortemps.

“Should you be patrolling at all?” Rielle asked.

Aeryn sighed, not turning to look; it would be a mistake. “I’m fine. The Alliance conjurers saw to my wounds, and you know I heal fast. I’m sure the chirugeons also poked at me when the Lord Commander had me brought here.”

“Now I know you’re upset.”

“What do you mean?” Aeryn did look finally, frowning at the girl.

It _was_ a mistake; Rielle glowered back, eyes locking onto Aeryn’s and refusing to let go. “He’s your friend. You only call him by his titles when you’re upset.”

“Not true. Sometimes I have to be formal.”

Rielle crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. She was getting close to Y’shtola levels of scary.

Y’shtola. Laying unmoving in an infirmary bed back in Mor Dhona. Like the others.

“Rielle, I promise, I’m fine,” Aeryn said, smiling.

The adolescent shook her head. “ _Everyone_ knows there’s some sort of demon possessing the Garlean prince. _Everyone_ knows you fell in battle to him. _Everyone_ knows if not for Ser Estinien, you’d be dead, Aeryn.”

“I bet he just loves that publicity. I can hear his growl of annoyance from here.”

“Aeryn—”

“Do you want to examine me yourself?” Aeryn asked. “Will that make you feel better?”

“Yes,” Rielle answered instantly. “On the condition that if I think you not fit, you don’t go on patrol.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. 

“There’s no way I’m leaving this room without agreeing, is there?”

“Nope.” Rielle sighed. “Honestly, Aeryn, you should be going home; they’re probably worried sick.”

“And do what? Sit around waiting while everyone else just—” Aeryn bit her lip. After a moment, she pulled off her jacket, then her shirt, leaving only her band. She sat on the bed. “Fine.”

Rielle made a quiet distressed noise; much of Aeryn’s torso was a bruise, in various levels of fading. A still-healing cut, stitched together traditionally along with alchemy and magic, stretched from the round of her left shoulder across her upper chest, ending almost under her right arm. The scar from her first battle with Zenos, on her upper abdomen, was mostly faded and covered by the bruising, but Aeryn could swear she still felt it ache.

Rielle’s hands were warm and gentle as she brushed them over Aeryn’s skin, the familiar warmth of conjury flowing through her. Aeryn tasted wintermint and mountain springwater from Rielle’s commune with the elements.

Y’shtola’s always felt like the pines on the hills in Dravania, and the Thaliak River. E-Sumi’s conjury tasted of autumn maple and a deep, still pool warmed by the sun. Kan-E, in contrast, was a garden in spring bloom, a riot of colors and scents tempered by a light rain over the forest. Raya-O felt like the rushes of the South Shroud blowing in the wind, and a bubbling brook racing to its next destination. A-Rhun was a solid oak in the midst of summer’s heat, and the dew that formed in pre-dawn’s light.

It was such a stark contrast to the electric pulse of Arcanima, but even that differed between casters. Urianger’s magic was a steady lantern, warm and bright. Alphinaud a candle flame, growing steadier and stronger over time. Alisaie was a crackling sparkler–

_Don’t leave me alone._

“There,” Rielle said, her hands and the sense of her aether pulling away from Aeryn, startling her from her reverie. “There’s still a long way to go, but you do seem more or less patched up, if sore and aching everywhere. I don’t want to push your body too much further; even _you_ have limits, Aeryn.”

Aeryn let out a deep breath; that did feel a little easier. “Maybe,” she answered Rielle. “Not a bad thing to be reminded of them, I suppose.” She looked at the girl. “This mean I can go on patrol?”

Rielle nodded, grudgingly. “Don’t wear heavy armor. That new leather coat should be fine for protection without causing too much strain.”

“Thank you, Rielle.”

Rielle shook her head. “I still think this is just an excuse for both you and Sid, but…Well, how much trouble can one quick patrol be? The city’s been quiet with everyone at the front.”

Aeryn smiled and looked at Fray’s soulcrystal, cradled in her palm. “Yeah; just a quick walk around the city, spend some time together, clear my head, and then…well, we’ll see what happens.”


	15. Gods

“Is this really necessary?” Arenvald groaned, falling back in the chair.

Aeryn crossed her arms and glared. “I’m about to be gone for gods know how long to gods know where to find the twins and archons’ missing souls. Leaving you and your team to defend the realm from any and all primal threats in the meantime. So. Yes.”

Arenvald ran his hands over his face. “It was a rhetorical question,” his muffled voice replied. He dropped his hands and looked back at his mentor in all things Echo-related. “I’ve fought Lakshmi—well, I helped—and we did alright with Ifrit. I’ve read all the reports on your other battles, and the summoners are all old hands at this. Jajasamu was even in the Company of Heroes! So was Riol, for that matter. They’ve got my back while you’re gone.”

Aeryn scowled more, attempting a strict teacher expression, but Arenvald knew her too well. Aeryn just wasn’t all that frightening to her friends. He would never dare admit it out loud, but Tataru was scarier. Especially when she picked up her Arcanist tomes. Hells, Arenvald thought that just about anyone in the Scions was scarier than Aeryn. She was too easy to fluster, and Alphinaud and Alisaie had shared a number of ways to derail and distract the esteemed Warrior besides.

Still, he needed to stop mucking about, so she could go save Alphinaud and the others from whatever hell they were trapped in.

“All right, Aeryn,” Arenvald said, sitting back up and reaching for the next report. “We were going to discuss Titan next, right?”

She nodded. “This one worries me due to the difficult nature of the ever-shifting tunnels. Of course, Y’shtola left detailed notes so any mage should be able to hold the aetheryte attunement for your group. I’d recommend calling upon Coultenet or Y’mhitra to—”

Aeryn’s voice faded as if she were going down a tunnel while Arenvald’s head split with the familiar pounding of an Echo’s vision.

“Ah hells,” he muttered before finding himself in an Imperial castrum alongside Lord Hien, Lady Yugiri, Alphinaud, and Alisaie. He was in Aeryn’s perspective as a Doman woman in fancy dress–Aeryn’s memories called her both Yotsuyu and Tsuyu, called out to her to _stop please don’t do this_ –raised a mirror and summoned the primal Tsukuyomi, using herself as the vessel.

The others ran. Aeryn faced the newborn goddess, as she always did, thoughts of an elezen maid and an elderly man muddling the vision as Arenvald lived through Aeryn’s memory of the sting of the smoke, the rush of wind from the fans, the clash of steel from the swords. Moonlight and shadow played tricks on the sight and mind and then—

–Oh, that was not something he had ever expected from a primal, as Yotsuyu’s own memories overwhelmed Tsukuyomi, the images given form and substance, requiring defeat all on their own–except for the memory of the kind roegadyn samurai, trying to appeal to the woman behind the god.

The battle finished, but the vision continued. Aeryn could, in fact, be _absolutely terrifying_ as she stalked toward the Garlean ambassador, a look of pure murder on her face. Before she could make good the threat crackling along every ilm of her frame, Yotsuyu killed her brother, finally dying herself in the process, Gosetsu’s sobs overwhelming Aeryn’s bloody memories as the Echo faded.

“Arenvald?” Aeryn’s concerned voice cut through the haze, pulling him back to the present and the dusty tent in Rhalgr’s Reach. “Do you need one of F’lhaminn’s specials?” The Scions had developed their own curative for those who had the rare misfortune of walking in the Warrior of Light’s intense memories.

He probably ought to be concerned he felt more or less fine afterwards, as if he were getting used to seeing visions like that.

“N-no. No, I’m fine,” he responded, shaking the Echo off. Her shoulders remained tense, and he noticed now the circles under her eyes. He smiled for her. “I’m still here, Aeryn.”

She looked away, taking a deep breath. “Right.” Her voice had an almost cracked tone to it. She cleared her throat. “So, what did you see?”

“Tsukuyomi,” he answered. Then he frowned. “She was…different, from these others.”

Aeryn was quiet for a long moment. “Yes. More like…Shiva, or Thordan and his Knights, in that she was summoned into Yotsuyu.”

“But it didn’t make her more powerful,” Arenvald noted. “I mean, Yotsuyu was, of course, but the summoning was still weak overall. Not enough crystals, and no worshipers…”

“The mirror held the beliefs of the kojin, and others who knew the tales of Tsukuyomi,” Aeryn explained. “But you’re right, she wasn’t meant to be a powerful summon–the intent wasn’t to kill me, though that would have been a bonus for our enemies if she’d managed it. She only had to give truth to the idea that a Doman had summoned a primal.” Aeryn shook her head.

“Yotsuyu had to have known you’d defeat her.”

“I think she was counting on it,” Aeryn replied. After another nearly-awkward pause, she began gathering the files. “That’s enough for today. Tomorrow we’ll do some sparring.”

‘Some sparring’ meant most of a day being put through his paces in a grueling round of exercises and obstacles while Aeryn pointed out ways he might improve his blade work and defenses. Arenvald had thought A’aba and Thancred to be demanding instructors, but Aeryn lately had been a taskmaster.

He recalled the look on her face as she stalked forward with murderous intent while Yotsuyu lay in a gleaming heap, the aether of the god still swirling around her, Aeryn’s thoughts consumed with others she‘d had to kill because of summoning while an old man’s cries echoed in her ears.

“I can’t be you,” Arenvald blurted. Aeryn froze. “I can’t be an unstoppable godkiller.”

Her shoulders slumped, the tension weighing her down instead of holding her straight. She turned to Arenvald with a melancholy smile and eyes full of rain. Her fingertips brushed his cheek briefly. “I never want you to be,” she whispered. She picked up the files and turned away. “I just need you prepared enough to return from them.”

He watched her leave the tent, slender form caught briefly in the glare of daylight before the flap fell and he was left in shadows again.


	16. Wonderful

The whistle and explosion made her tense–but then the night lit up with brilliant colors, children and adults both gasping and shouting in pleased wonder, not terror or pain.

Aeryn looked up, mouth agape at the familiar sight of fireworks flashing across the sky, their colors reflecting off the Crystal Tower, dazzling the eyes.

“A little surprise I cooked up for the children with the Exarch’s help─fireworks,” Katliss said, watching next to her. She looked down at Aeryn and smiled. “And a taste of home for you, I’m told?”

Aeryn nodded. “I…sometimes mistake them for cannon fire, or bombs…” Katliss’ face began to fall. Aeryn shook her head. “But then the colors pop, and it’s fine! It helps if I’m expecting them, but I just have to remind myself. They are common for some holidays. Besides…”

She turned to watch the children and the artisans of the Mean, cheering and clapping for the display lighting up the darkened sky. Aeryn smiled. “They deserve it.” She looked back up at Katliss. “Thank you.”


	17. Hello

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((uses a few lines of quest dialog here and there))_

The man with the ash-blond hair turned from the indignant young noblewoman to fix Aeryn with a charming grin and flashing brown eyes. “Hello; you must be the one that Papashan mentioned. Congratulations on finding our elusive young charge.”

“I’m Aeryn,” she answered with a nod. As he spoke, she noted the tattoos on his neck, and one of those strange contraptions on his arm--just like Papalymo and Yda in the Shroud, and Y’shtola in La Noscea. Another Sharlayan scholar, then.

When the voidsent appeared, she wondered if these adventuring academics weren’t the ones who were magnets for trouble as both she and Thancred drew their weapons to defend Lady Lilira.

* * *

“All right, all right,” Kan-E said in exasperation. “Please, Thancred needs his rest! And you all should get to breakfast; the Admiral has the Maelstrom culinarians serving everyone this morning.”

“Very well, Seedseer,” Minfilia agreed. “Come on everyone.” She spared one last careful hug for Thancred before turning to usher the other Scions outside.

“Aeryn,” he called quietly, before she stepped out of the tent with the others.

She paused, glancing between him and the padjal. Kan-E smiled and slipped out of the tent as well, leaving them alone.

Aeryn fidgeted.

Thancred smiled, too tired to affect his flirtatious demeanor. “I just wished to say...thank you.”

She knew she was blushing as she nodded. “I wish there’d been a way without…” She gestured at him, feeling awkward.

“Better than the alternative,” he replied, then looked away, making a face. “And fairly certain most of the damage wasn’t from you.”

She suppressed a wince. “I’m not sure when...?”

“‘Twas after Ifrit,” he said. “I know I spoke to the Flame General, and then..” he shook his head. “It’s a blank after that, with only very occasional, very blurry, not-quite recollections.”

Aeryn grimaced. “That was some time ago. So much has happened.”

“I can see that; you’ve grown not only as an adventurer but...Then again, I suppose I can’t say; we didn’t really get to know each other well before all of this.”

“Plenty of time now,” Aeryn said, smiling again. “So: Hello, Thancred. It’ll be nice to get to know you, finally.”

He looked at her again, seeming surprised for some reason, before he smiled back. “I suppose there is,” he replied. “Hello, Aeryn. I look forward to it.”

* * *

They crossed the Smouldering Wastes again, toward Anyx Trine to relay the news to Vidofnir before returning to Ishgard. Alphinaud, Krile, and Y’shtola were discussing the unexpected group of adventurers they had encountered in the hive, but Aeryn found her thoughts wandering after that Echo vision.

“Hello,” Thancred said, suddenly next to her. “Gil for your thoughts?”

She blinked, feeling her face warm as she looked at him again. He was so...different than she remembered, and that cloth covering the left side of his face…

_My fault. All my fault._

Despite having only one eye visible, Thancred still didn’t seem to miss much. “I know what you're thinking, but really, you needn't worry. It will only lend credence to my tales of heroism. Besides, battle scars are to maidens what loose morals are to gentlemen. A definite bonus.” He gave her one of his rakish grins.

Aeryn shook her head and rolled her eyes. “If you say so. And Y’shtola’s right.”

“Usually, yes, but don’t tell her I said that. What about this time, specifically?”

“You haven’t lost your flair for showing up to a fight right in the nick of time.”

Thancred chuckled. “Maybe someday you’ll even be impressed with one of my daring entrances.”

Aeryn shrugged, realizing she was smiling herself now, thoughts of the Warrior of Darkness’ Echo less of a concern. “Never said that entrance wasn’t impressive,” she replied. She hesitated, then reached over to touch his arm, giving it a light squeeze. “I’m glad you’re back.”

He looked briefly surprised but swiftly recovered, putting a hand over hers. “Glad to be back,” he answered.

* * *

“Commander Kemp is on his way to the castrum as we speak for a meeting with General Aldynn. If you hurry, you could find him on the road, and discuss the situation beforehand,” Thancred said as he made a final check of his gear. He paused, finding Aeryn watching him with a slight frown. He gave her a small smile. “Not quite the usual ‘hello’ is it?”

She blinked a moment, blushing as she realized she had been caught staring. “I...No, I guess it isn’t, though the situation is still rather dire.” She smiled through the tension in her own cheeks. “Hopefully we’re not the ones swooping in just in time to aid you. Please be careful, Thancred.”

“Always, dear lady,” he answered. There was a brief moment where she thought he might say more, but then he turned and hurried off, the need to find what the imperials had done with Krile overriding all else.

* * *

_Godsdamn, that old man was strong!_ Aeryn panted in the dirt, between him and the others. Ran’jit sneered and came closer. She had to get up, find his weakness—

A white-clad figure rushed in from the other side with a shout. Ran’jit whirled and they clashed, the General countering the new attacker with ease.

“Thancred?” young Minfilia called.

Aeryn stared a moment, then struggled to her feet. _He was here, really here_ …

...And diving in to protect them in the nick of time as usual. She wanted to laugh and cry both.

Ran’jit’s latest counter sent Thancred skidding back toward them, stopping only a few fulms from Aeryn. “Vermin such as you are not worthy of the Oracle,” Ran’jit ranted, coming closer.

There was a pitched, mechanical whine from Thancred’s coat. Allagan symbols surrounded him, Aeryn, the twins, Lyna, and Minfilia, before her eyesight was overwhelmed with a sudden flash. When Aeryn blinked again, they were outside Laxan Loft, on the northern road.

“Let’s go!” Thancred ordered, waving to the road ahead. They began to follow, though Lyna stopped.

“I must return to my troops,” she said.

“Fair enough,” Thancred answered. “We have our own orders. Good luck, Captain.”

“You as well,” she replied, giving them a salute as they ran toward the break in the hills, leading to a mountain pass and a distant wood line.

In Aeryn’s mental map, that pass seemed nearly reminiscent of where the pass for Coerthas would be, once one left Revenant’s Toll back in Mor Dhona.

She made sure the twins were managing; they weren’t used to the armor of the Crystarium Guard, even light as it was. Thancred ensured Minfilia was keeping up, slowing his own naturally swift stride to remain at the rear of the group.

He did take a moment to toss a grin Aeryn’s way. “Well. Hello there.”

“This feels familiar,” she replied between breaths as they ran.

“Perhaps someday we’ll meet when there isn’t dire peril.”

“And miss a dramatic rescue? Heavens forbid.”

After another handful of yalms, he said “There’s much to say—”

“And no time yet to say it,” Aeryn agreed, looking back toward the Loft, still visible and alight from the battle, though swiftly growing distant as they pushed their younger comrades to keep moving. “Right now, I’m happy with hello.”


	18. Gentle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> _((The Doman kids are in some danger, but it turns out all right for them))_  
>  **

They really, really had not thought this through, Koharu realized as she and the others ran from the gigas stomping after them. Shiun and Rokka were screaming, while Yozan was shouting obscenities at both her and the giant. Koharu didn’t dare let go of his arm as she drug him along, lest he do something even stupider than they had already by stumbling on the creature in the midst of its hunt.

“There!” Shiun cried, pointing to one of the many old Garlean wrecks still dotting Mor Dhona’s landscape. The thing was covered in the weeds slowly regrowing over the region, wildflowers dotting the rusting hulk, but there was a gap small enough for them to climb in--and hopefully out of the giant’s reach.

The quartet skid under the heap and into the gap. There was space for them against the back wall. The gigas roared and pushed an arm under the gap to swipe at them, but couldn't reach as they huddled as far back as they could. Its arm pulled away, and they could hear it grumbling as it tromped outside.

“We can’t just hide in here,” Yozan hissed.

“Shut _up_ ,” Koharu whispered back fiercely. “You got us into this mess! We should never have gone past the farm perimeter!”

“Quiet, both of you!” Rokka pleaded. “Do you hear that?”

“...I don’t hear anything,” Shiun said. And indeed, it was suddenly very quiet outside.

“Maybe it’s gone?” Yozan suggested, beginning to stand. “We can explore this old—”

The rusting panels burst behind them. The gigas’ arm swept in, snagging Yozan’s jacket. They all screamed as it tried to drag him out of the wreck. Koharu grabbed his waist, Shiun and Rokka each snagging a leg, trying to keep the giant from taking their friend.

_“LEAVE THEM ALONE!”_

The woman’s voice seemed almost familiar as the sudden heat of a fire spell slammed against the paneling, knocking all four of them to the ground. The wreck shuddered as the gigas fell against it. It roared a response and shoved off, the rusted, warped panel falling away entirely. Its attention was no longer on the children.

Koharu stared as she realized it was going after Aeryn.

She knew Aeryn; Aeryn played games with them, told them stories, helped them with their Eorzean letters. She could find them the best snacks without Miss F’lhaminn finding out. Aeryn even helped in many of their adventures, following along in confused amusement, but doing as they asked, handling many of the trickier tasks they weren’t capable of yet (or simply couldn’t reach). She was kind, and quiet, and gentle, always. Koharu’s mother said Aeryn’s hands were full of healing and help.

Koahru’s father, though, said the Warrior of Light’s hands were just as full of violence and death, though Mother had always chastised him for it. 

Koharu had seen Aeryn fight before--well, she’d seen her spar with Hoary and Coultenet; she was definitely better than either of them. Lady Yugiri said Aeryn employed tricks and styles from a variety of martial disciplines. Koharu had also--she’d thought--seen Aeryn angry; she spoke even less, her words clipped. She would frown, and her grey eyes would be dark like storm clouds. But she always let them know that she couldn’t adventure with them, or play games, or help with schoolwork. She still managed to smile for them, and sound sorry.

This was different.

Aeryn sparked and glowed with power, sword drawn, focus in hand. Her lips were drawn back in a feral snarl, the storm clouds in her eyes flashing with lightning. The levinbolt crackled down her blade and into the gigas as it charged, followed by stones bursting against it. Aeryn flipped away before the creature’s club could slam into the spot where she had stood.

“Come on!” She yelled, flinging a jolt of pure arcane energy as she backpedaled, leading it away. The gigas chased her around the wreck and the hillock its crash had created.

Yozan tried to get to his feet. “We should—”

Shiun tripped him, Koharu and Rokka sitting on him as soon as he hit the ground again. “We should _stay here_ ,” Rokka insisted, glowering down at their foolishly fearless leader.

Aeryn shouted. There was a bone-rattling boom of thunder and a rush of air. The gigas screamed.

Silence.

The four of them waited, trembling. None of them dared be the next to suggest looking.

Quiet, familiar footsteps came around the side. Through the twisted, broken panels, Koharu caught a glimpse of Aeryn’s tall black boots and long red coat. She scrambled to her feet, the others following along. Aeryn’s sword was sheathed again, the focus hooked back in place on her belt. She was smoothing down her hair, and smiled with relief at the quartet as they rushed out to meet her.

“That was amazing!” Yozan exclaimed. A moment later he yelped, as Aeryn pulled him and the other three into a hug.

“Never, _ever_ , do this again,” she said firmly. Koharu realized Aeryn was trembling. Was she still angry? No, Koharu thought, looking up at Aeryn’s misty grey eyes.

She had been _scared_.

“We--we won’t. Right, Yozan?” Koharu glared at him.

To his credit, he cringed and hung his head. “No. We won’t.” He thought for a moment, then looked up. “Our parents are going to be really mad, aren’t they?”

“Very. And happy I found you in time.” Aeryn let out a deep breath. “Let’s get home,” she said with her usual friendly smile, her calloused fingers brushing a flake of rust from Koharu’s hair.

A familiar gesture from familiar hands. A gentle touch from a gentle woman.

Koharu looked back as Aeryn herded them toward Revenant’s Toll. The wreck looked even more battered and charred, ready to fall apart in the next strong wind. Koharu couldn’t see what had become of the gigas--an increasingly louder and talkative part of her said she didn’t want to.

She thought of all of the stories she had heard about the Warrior of Light. She thought of her quiet, kind friend Aeryn. She thought of the powerful, angry mage that had fought for them. She thought of her parents’ words: help and violence, healing and death.

It might be some time before the younger three realized it, but Koharu began to understand the choices Aeryn made that led to her become the adventurer--the hero--the _friend_ \--they admired.


	19. Kiss

The first one had been hesitant, careful. They stood on the hills over the Reach, the celebrations beginning, finally, to wind down. None had noted their slipping away.

They had promised to talk, when all was said and done. An attempt to define the emotions pulling between them. But in the starlight, they simply leaned on one another, content to have survived.

Valiant attempts were made, but for all their combined skills with words, none of the right ones came; perhaps they did not exist, at least not in their native tongue.

His hand, freed of its glove, cupped her face; warm and gentle, mindful of his many calluses and scars from a life of work and adventure. She had leaned into that touch, her own fingers tracing over that skin, learning those marks. Her other hand found itself on his shoulder as he leaned closer.

Foreheads touched at first, more stuttering attempts made to give form to feeling, but finally the best expression came when their lips met. Careful, tentative, breath shared and bodies pressed. The slight scratch of stubble a contrast to the softness of his mouth. She remembered smiling and resting against him after, wanting to remain close in some way.

It was all she wanted, all she needed. Wondrously, he felt the same.

* * *

The last one was in the early morning hours, preparations made for the day, him trying to leave before anyone realized where he had spent the night.

Couldn’t they end this charade? Surely some others had guessed. But he deemed it too risky, especially with the empire on the move once more. She had too many enemies.

She knew he still felt inadequate. He knew that still broke her heart.

She had called his name before he slipped away and he turned, cupping her face in his warm, rough hands, that always held her so carefully. There was heat, a lingering hunger, and she caught his lip on her teeth as he pulled away too soon.

Tonight, he had said then. After the meeting, after the plans, before they were scattered to the winds again to ensure the freedom of their realm.

But the Call came and he fell, unmoving.

This was not an enemy she could fight. When no one was looking, she brushed her lips across his forehead. She had never felt so helpless.

* * *

The next one was a sudden rush in a moment thoughtfully given for them to steal. His hands in her hair, on her back; her own clinging to his coat.

Their cheeks were wet, lips tasting of salt. She missed the scratch of stubble. 

Shaved, or an affect of the aetheric form? Didn’t matter; he was warm and solid and real and here, after all that fear and uncertainty.

Still with the uncertainty, time’s dislocation changing so many things. Changing him.

Changing her, too, though he perhaps had not expected that in the shorter time she had lived.

Words failed them once more. Relieved breaths turned guarded. Hands dropped away, fiddled with nothing.

Somewhere in the house, a pixie giggled. Somewhere else, their colleague made a noise to warn them their moment was almost over.

His eyes matched again, more hazel than brown. Still plagued with self-doubt and the worst expectations, even of her, and her hesitation was not helping.

She let him turn away, unsure what else to do.

It would be some time before their next connection.


	20. Judgement

_**“Were Light and Dark given form when Man was born?”** _

The words echoed in her mind as thunder continued to roll across the plain, lightning still flashing in the sky, the aether freed by her summoning and defeat of this new version of Ramuh.

Yet she couldn’t help but recall the first time she had faced him, upon the Source.

He had judged her, and found her worthy. It was less a victory and more of an acknowledgement as he had spoken and then vanished.

She still wasn’t sure what to make of it, even after all they had learned of primals in the time since. Ramuh hadn’t been like the others.

But then, there were always exceptions, weren’t there? Odin–or rather, Zantetsuken–seemed one, until she journeyed East and learned of the kojin relics and their ability to call forth those such as Susano or Tsukuyomi.

Good King Moggle Mog had once been a real person–as had Saint Shiva. But time and memory had distorted their images, just as all her experiences altered the deiform entities she summoned with Eden’s aid.

A primal’s being was determined by those who summoned it–yet, in the imagination giving birth to a new lifeform, it seemed they gained their own mind and personality. Certainly in Sri Lakshmi’s case, her persona was determined by the Qalyana beliefs–but her method of fulfilling their prayers and dealing with outsiders had been her own.

Then again, the Titan that responded to Ga Bu’s grief was incapable of aught but instinctive reactions mirroring the boy’s heartbreak.

_**“Were Light and Dark given form when Man was born?”** _

All they had learned and seen upon the First seemed to indicate that was in fact the case and she wondered if Ramuh–the first Ramuh–somehow knew that. Where had his story originated, the form and personality the sylphs called upon? For that matter, where did the concept of primals begin at all?

Concepts. Like those in the shadowy memory of Amaurot, imagination given form, given reality, at the thought of the creator. She thought of her earliest encounters with the Ascians.

_“O mournful voice of creation…”_

“Art thou well, my friend?” Urianger’s voice broke into her thoughts. She looked up to see him carefully walking across the scarred field where she had fought her version of Ramuh. 

She smiled. “I’m fine, thank you, just…thinking. You remember our first encounter with Ramuh, back in the Source?”

He returned her smile even as he looked her over for injury. “‘Tis difficult to forget. Never before then had I personally seen thee fight unto thy considerable limits–it left quite the impression.”

She felt her cheeks heat up, even as she rolled her eyes. “I meant more about what we gleaned from the primal himself–both verbally, and aetherically.”

Urianger nodded, stepping back again, seemingly satisfied with her state of health. “Alas, my notes of that fateful day did not make the journey with me. But well I remember that the readings I took led to the means by which we may now defeat our otherwise immortal enemies.”

Aeryn nodded. “Even Hades,” she said absently. “Ramuh was seen as a judge,” she continued. “Much like Emet-Selch, he did not believe man was worthy to caretake the world.”

Urianger frowned lightly. “But unlike Emet-Selch, thou wert able to convince him otherwise, by the strength of thy conviction.”

“The strength of my sword arm and spells, perhaps,” Aeryn replied with a frown. “I’ve personally never found trial by combat to be a convincing argument.”

“A belief in which thou differs from thy Ishgardian brethren,” he teased.

“Pft,” Aeryn waved dismissively. “Maybe if I’d grown up in Coerthas I’d think differently. Or not–I’d like to believe I would see logic to be more reasonable than the favor of some god.”

Especially once one stopped believing in them. She kept that thought to herself still.

“We shall never know. I for one am glad thou hath embraced reason over arms, as impressive as thy feats of combat may be. But come; we should return, lest the others begin to worry.”

“You mean before Thancred rushes down here to scold us once he realizes there’s no further danger after all and we’re simply loitering?”

“Indeed,” Urianger answered dryly, gesturing in a gentlemanly manner for her to go ahead. They exchanged a grin at the expense of their friend and made to return to Eden.

Aeryn couldn’t help one last look back to the plains, though, as they departed. The sky still crackled, her skin pricking from unresolved static as thunder rolled and growled overhead.

_**“Were Light and Dark given form when Man was born?”** _

The answer was both closer and farther than she cared to think about, even as her scholarly instincts yearned for more.

If–when–she found out, she wondered if she would better understand Ramuh’s judgement.


	21. Laugh

“Come my friends! This shall be a much needed respite!” Haurchefant says, practically shoving the trio of Scions out of the Falling Snows.

“I’m still not one for the cold,” Alphinaud grumbles, though at least this time he’s wearing a practical fur-lined coat, mittens, and boots in shades of blue.

“Oh, Lord Haurchefant is right,” Taratu says, round and cheerful in her own pink winter garb. “We could use some time outside, now that the sun’s out again.”

Aeryn pushes a matching hat with long ear flaps onto Alphinaud’s head. “Fresh air will do us all good,” she says.

Alphinaud peers at her, suspicious; she’s been gone a lot lately, and hasn’t told them much about her recent adventures. The bruises and cuts, and stains on her heavier armor, are difficult to conceal, as close as they’ve been living.

He doesn’t need to know how she’s been (not) managing her own anger, grief, and sense of helplessness.

Haurchefant herds them out of the camp’s west gate and into the woods, the guards offering their commander a salute as they pass. Haurchefant takes the lead, guiding them through the trees, snow crunching under their feet. Aeryn slips to the rear, figuring Alphinaud and Tataru will be protected well enough if between herself and the knight. She pulls the collar of her lavender jacket up as a gust of cold air sends stray snow dusting through the air, and she is reminded briefly of the way sand skips and blows across Thanalan.

“Here we are!” Haurchefant proclaims as they come to a small clearing dominated by a frozen pond, the surface a heavy grey-blue reflection of the sky, sprinklings of snow and frost like clouds across it. Haurchefant drops the pack he’s wearing, digging out odd-shaped blades. “Now, have any of you been ice skating before?”

“Been what?” Tataru asks. Aeryn just blinks. Alphinaud is idly looking elsewhere, barely paying attention.

“Obviously not,” Haurchefant deadpans. “Well, ‘tis a good time to learn. The water’s frozen solid after that storm. Aeryn, my dear, if you would help me demonstrate?”

Aeryn nods, having seen that coming. Haurchefant brushes off a nearby log and gestures for her to sit. “Now, these blades get attached to our boots, like so,” he says, sliding one of the contraptions on her foot, securing it to the boot with straps.

“Why?” Alphinaud asks. “Why not just go out on the ice normally, it would be far more stable—”

“And slow!” Haurchefant interrupts. “With these you can race or dance across the ice like a bird hopping ‘twixt branches. And there we are.” He beams, as both Aeryn’s feet now have blades attached. He holds out a hand to help her stand again.

“I feel wobbly,” she says, finding her balance. She never thought to take ‘standing on a knife’s edge’ so literally.

“It is a bit, but get on the ice and I’m certain you shall be a natural,” Haurchefant replies.

Aeryn tries to take a step, but overbalances. With a surprised little “whoop!” her foot flies out from under her, and she is falling onto her arse. Haurchefant still has her hand and tries to counter-balance, but is instead yanked down, splaying across her midsection, his head in a snowbank.

“Oh my gods!” Tataru cries. “Are you two all right?!”

Haurchefant’s head pops back up, a pile of snow atop his hat, ears bright red from cold (can the man even feel embarrassment, Aeryn wonders). “‘M’fine!” he replies, cheerful as ever. “You?” He grins at Aeryn.

She pauses in her answer at a small, choked sound. Her attention immediately snaps to Alphinaud. He’s been so easy to upset and worry lately–at least that’s what she tells herself when she doesn’t say what she’s been learning from the dark knight…

Alphinaud coughs again, but behind his hand…is he grinning? It’s followed by a swallowed titter, as Tataru tries to aid Haurchefant in removing himself from his awkward position on Aeryn without being less proper than this is already.

Then Alphinaud lets out an honest to gods _giggle_ that makes them all stop. Tataru can’t help but respond with her own chuckles, and Haurchefant is immediately laughing as well, knocking the snow off his hat and right onto Aeryn’s chest. Alphinaud finally lets loose a real, deep, belly laugh.

It’s the first time Aeryn has seen the boy smile, let alone _laugh_ , since well before Ul’dah.

She lets their collective mirth sweep her up, her own laughter joining theirs as she and Haurchefant make it to their feet. They may have much to learn about ice skating, but already this little excursion has been worth it.


	22. Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Contains spoilers for the role quest capstone, "Shadow Walk With Me" that is only undertaken after completing all four of the others at level 80.**

Glynard looked up with concern as Cyella slammed her thankfully empty tray down, leaning hard on the bar. “Are you all right, lass?” He asked. “You’re pale and sweating. Not coming down with a fever are you?”

She looked up, taking a moment to focus on his mint-toned face, seeing the creases of concern and consternation–in all the time he had known her, Cyella had never once been ill.

“I’m fine,” she claimed, giving him a wan smile. “Just a headache.” Not a lie; her pulse thudded in her skull in a way it had not for longer than she cared to remember.

_Somedays I wish I could forget._

It would never happen, she knew, but the thought still bubbled up, black and tarry in the back of her mind.

“You’ve been working harder than usual lately,” Glynard said. “Take off early, Cyella. I _think_ we can manage one main shift without you.” He was only somewhat joking.

She sniffed but did not argue, though she wished to. She had never been one to do things by halves, and that included taking care of her current employer and his business. Still, she nodded to him and complied, noting his eyebrows climbing his forehead as she left with no further fuss. He had expected her to resist; she had never missed a scheduled shift, either, nor often had reason to leave early.

Then again, none of the Exarch’s other guests had made her Sight go quite so wild.

The Sight had only come a few times over the last hundred years or so; not so often as before, when she still fought alongside true heroes in her first home. It now always took her off guard, and the woman who eventually called herself “Cyella” had to be careful no one realized how she knew hidden truths.

Luckily she had always been rather good at subterfuge, and in those times when it was necessary, used her ability and the knowledge it brought to maneuver others into the right information, the right situations, to do as they needed.

After all, she was no hero. Not anymore–if ever, really.

Then, five years ago, the ash-haired man with tattoos on his neck had arrived rather suddenly. A countryman of the Exarch’s, they were told, as if any countries still existed beyond the Empty.

As if she had not Seen into the Exarch’s own memories, and learned the truth of his impossibility.

The guest was more like herself; a soul bereft of its original form, an image held in one’s own mind to fashion lifelike simulacra that fooled all but the most experienced and astute. Even then, they had to know to look.

But she knew, after Seeing his memories. Her heart had skipped when she glimpsed familiar faces in them, a world and years away. She paid close attention to the guest after that–easy enough, as he was a handsome fellow and one more “admirer” in the crowd was simple to miss.

Once upon a time, though, Cyella might have preferred the demure elven scholar, when he and the mystel woman appeared a few years later, their memories likewise showing her familiar faces. And oh, he knew _her_ Warriors of Light well, that scholar did. So she found a few excuses to ingratiate herself a tad more, making sure she was always at hand if these “Scions” needed service, hoping Mother would see fit to grace her with another vision of those she had lost, plucked from their minds.

It was around that time that the Cardinal Virtues appeared.

Their descriptions made her wonder, and so she went looking. It was simple enough to arrange the break, as she took so few; Glynard practically shoved her out the door. She had tracked the so-called Virtues carefully, even accepted aid from some sin eater hunters interested in this new challenge.

She watched a monster that looked like Renda-Rae tear the hunters apart, raising them up almost as an afterthought. Andreia turned its gaze to Cyella…and looked right through her.

No recognition; no joy, not even hate. Renda was gone, and all that remained was this abomination wearing her skin.

Cyella fled; her days of wielding weapons in combat were long past, and she had not the skill to face this creature with Renda’s abilities in addition to its own holy might. So she found safety in a nearby village and wept for bells, until her stomach heaved and her eyes felt like sandpaper.

She verified Phronesis’ identity as Nyelbert and cried again. Quietly this time, laying in a borrowed bed, staring at nothing on the ceiling as tears streamed down her cheeks and wet her neck, her hair, the pillow. She did not sleep before moving on to seek out the next.

Seeing Branden’s empty face made her drink through two bottles of wine in a sitting. After verifying Lamitt, too, had been desecrated, Cyella drank another bottle and made the mistake of going to bed with a local farm hand, trying to feel something, _anything_ –some semblance of the life she had lost and regained when Ardbert shattered her heart before shattering the world.

But she had simply felt emptier than ever. There had been pieces enough of her heart left to mourn them over again after all.

Her grief tamped down, she returned to the Crystarium with a new plan forming. Her attention turned from the Scions–as tempting as their memories were, even more than the mysterious Exarch’s–to study the hunters that gathered at the Wandering Stairs, picking out the most likely options.

By the time the twins arrived, Cyella had it narrowed down to eight likely candidates. Hunters with good reason, the potential strength, and the stubbornness to see these battles through.

Three of them died over the course of the year. One tried too rashly to take on Dikaiosyne, he and his companions not up to the task after all. Another fell to random beasts on the road, victim of the usual adventurer vagaries. The third was taken by a damned fever, of all things.

The scarred man called Granson took the place of one of her previous options; he had survived Dikaiosyne’s attack on Wright and become a fierce warrior in the moons following. Cerigg’s intellect seemed fit enough to handle Phronesis. Giott was indeed a mighty warrior, but also thoughtful, and as a dwarf could perhaps understand Sophrosyne better than any other. Cyella debated on the last, but finally settled on young Lue-Reeq, seeing in him some echo of another mystel hunter she had once known.

Carefully, oh so carefully, she nurtured them in secret from the sidelines, a role she had played once before and knew all too well. More fragments of her heart ground to dust as she recalled what she had done to Norvrandt in those days, to shape those heroes.

This would never make up for that. But she might find a sliver of peace, if only _they_ could once again.

She wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or worried Ardbert never appeared as a Virtue.

Now, Cyella removed her apron and left the Stair, losing herself in the crowds of the market, keeping the Exarch and his newest guest in sight. She couldn’t fight as she once had, but a career in service had let her keep her skills at remaining unobtrusive and in the background, until necessity dictated otherwise.

The woman reminded Cyella of Ardbert.

Darker hair, tanner skin, greyer eyes. But if one had claimed this woman to be his sister, Cyella would have believed it. Come to think of it, Ardbert had similarly described a sister once…

Cyella’s head still ached from the memories her Sight had revealed. This young woman had been through so much, in so short a time, yet continued on despite it all. This Warrior of Light from another world–from the _Source_ –a true Hero, like _they_ had been.

Like Cyella had once tried to become. Could never be.

She stopped tailing the Exarch and his newest guest as they crossed the wide open Exedra, though Cyella watched them, the woman’s red jacket easy to track until it stepped through the great doors of the Tower. Gods, but something about her reminded one of Ardbert!

Cyella reached a hand into her pocket to clutch a dimmed water crystal, surface dry and lukewarm. “I failed you, time and again,” she whispered to a Mother who no longer spoke to her, may not even be listening. “But I can set this right. _She_ can set this right; I’ll see to that.”

She did not make it a promise; her memories held too many broken ones.


	23. Salvation

He watched her sleep as they lay together, limbs tangled, skin cooling as the sounds of revelry continued outside under the sunless sea, the Light’s dominance over this world broken, finally.

Because of her.

Aeryn had saved the world, though Thancred’s throat still tightened with the thought of just how close they had come to failing, how close they had come to losing her entirely.

At least he had learned his lesson and said what he had needed to, before the final battle.

Norvrandt celebrated while its savior slept, exhausted and deserving of some quiet. It had been difficult to get away from the crowds, to stop responding to the heartfelt, teary thank yous. Away from everyone wanting a word or a touch or even just a glimpse of the woman who had returned the night.

Thancred understood, better than he liked, even as he did his best to shield and whisk her away from her admirers when she came too close to overwhelmed. Aeryn had saved him, too. More than once now, but the image of her shining form piercing through deepest shadows to wrench him back to himself after what Lahabrea had done was forever seared into his consciousness.

He had hesitated, in the moons following, to seem too eager in her presence, to even be _in_ her presence. As if all she had _done_ was the reason for his attention, and not who she _was_. And he certainly wasn’t the only one, after Castrum Meridianum and Ultima.

So, as he was wont to do, he had gone the opposite direction; he was not worthy, after all, and she deserved better. It was what he told himself; Thancred was merely her colleague, a comrade in arms, and a troublesome one at that. Perhaps a friend, if he were truly lucky. All else was fantasy, and he was too old to entertain such childish notions.

Though he held onto the faint hope that one day, he may save her, as she had saved him. Perhaps if the scales were balanced, he could be less...concerned with his role in her story.

Never quite managed it; she was rather good at extricating herself from most dangers. And the times she wasn’t…

His fingers ghosted over certain scars on her skin. Reminders of the times he had not been there for her, when she really did need him--or anyone. When she had been alone. He pulled her closer, reassured by her sleepy mumble as she snuggled against his chest.

She’d not been alone on the First, at least. Here, they had been given the chance to change their own future, to save themselves--and save her. They had averted a Calamity of Light, the world-breaking potency of Black Rose neutralized with the First’s salvation.

Thancred still wasn’t sure the scale was quite even, but that was all right. Maybe he actually had learned a few things over the years. When saving one another time and again, in large ways and small, it became difficult to see where the balance leaned. Until one may as well stop keeping tabs at all.

She was here, and so was he, for now. They had saved each other once more--and would again, as needed.

Meanwhile, he would be content that they could finally get some sleep; saving worlds was damned tiring.


	24. Loyalty

“Do you ever get tired of it?” Ilberd asked, tone casual, as they leaned on a wall waiting for word from the Second.

Aeryn looked up, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

Ilberd looked down. “Of being used by everyone, for every little task as well as the great threats? Seems you’re at the beck and call of not only the Scions’ leadership, but half the rest of the realm, as well.”

Aeryn shrugged. “I like to help, I can do the work. Someone has to.”

“But what do you really want? For yourself?”

She didn’t answer right away; she never had a good response for this question.

Ilberd tried a different approach when she took too long. “Why did you become an adventurer?”

Aeryn watched the road, looking for signs of the runner from the Second. “My brother and I always planned to adventure together,” she said. “I returned to Eorzea to find him.”

“Returned?” A brow went up. “I thought you were Thavnairian.”

“Mother was,” she said. The details didn’t matter, it was close enough. “Father was Coerthan.” Aeryn gestured to the east. “The village where I was born is gone, between dragons and the Calamity.”

“So chasing down the heretics is personal for you then?”

She frowned up at him. “No? Why would it be?”

“Dragons are your peoples’ enemy, aren’t they?”

She shook her head. “Mother, Zaine, and I left when I was but five winters.” Aeryn paused. “She never wanted us to be part of Ishgard’s war.” _Yet here I am…_

He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Because the war killed your father.”

“Fate of all good Ishgardian men,” Aeryn said dryly. “And he was just a farmer.”

“Don’t you want revenge?” Ilberd asked, a hint of fire in his own voice, like feeling the heat through a wall.

“Will it bring him back?”

“It may put his soul to rest.”

Aeryn scoffed. “He should be safe in Halone’s halls for dying a ‘ _noble death_ ’.” She thought for a moment. “I don’t think the dead care; their trials are over. It’s the living who ascribe them motives, to feel better.” She looked to him again, noting the knit of his brow, and the uneasy feeling whispering in the back of her mind. She tamped that down; the Echo made her feel like a snoop too often. “Who are you wanting to avenge?” The question passed her teeth before she wondered where it had come from.

He started; there was a wave of anger, righteous and pained, and she began the mental exercises she and Minfilia had devised to try to block others’ feelings. It normally wasn’t so difficult, but Ilberd was a passionate man, and while she had never seen a full Echo of his past, the Blessing that made her so empathetic to others seemed to pick up on his emotions especially easily.

He looked away again, arms crossed. “I was a man grown and already fighting for my people when Ala Mhigo fell,” he said. “Perhaps I would feel differently had I been a child--like the Antecedent, or Curtis Hext’s daughter.” He shook his head. “So you wanted to be an adventurer like your brother?” Ilberd asked, suddenly changing topics. The anger was still underneath, though he kept it out of his tone. “Or was it what _he_ wanted, and you followed? You still haven’t answered what it is _you_ want, Warrior of Light.”

She winced at the title. Her brother and his friends had earned that moniker trying to stop the Seventh Umbral Calamity. Aeryn was simply Hydaelyn’s replacement.

Which, putting that thought next to Ilberd’s question, made her want to melt back into the wall. Instead, she cleared her throat. “A hot cup of tea and a fire, after standing here all afternoon.”

Ilberd barked out a laugh. “And after that? What will make you rise from your bed on the morrow, Aeryn?”

“Depending what that runner brings us,” Aeryn said as she pushed off the wall, having caught a glimpse of bright blue through the trees. “Either the need to finish this job, or on to the next task.”

“Hrmph,” Ilberd grunted, pushing off the wall as well. “Just go wherever the Antecedent asks, eh?”

Aeryn shrugged. “I wanted to become an adventurer to help people. When I joined the Scions, they seemed the best way, with these abilities I’ve been given. I still believe that.”

“I see,” he replied. There was an undercurrent to his tone that made the hairs on her neck prickle. Or perhaps that was the cold.

Aeryn put the thought aside; she could consider the conversation later, when there was time. There was finally something to do here and now as the runner saluted and gave his report.

* * *

It was much, much later when Aeryn finally remembered that conversation, and realized exactly what Ilberd had been trying to find out.


	25. Drink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((In which the Warrior of Light does not appear, but her friends decide to “help” with an issue. Patch 4.4.))_

Of all the things Lord Hien had expected when he arrived in Ala Mhigo, it was not to be cornered by a tiny, blonde, pink-clad miqo’te and a tall, dark roegadyn woman while wandering the halls of the palace. He recognized them as some of Aeryn’s companions.

And then they pulled him into a side alcove.

“We need a favor,” the miqo’te said, batting big, bright blue eyes at Hien.

“Um, alright?” he replied, blinking between the two. Which was actually fairly difficult given the height differences.

The roegadyn woman sighed long-sufferingly. “Sorry, Lord Hien; we should perhaps _properly introduce ourselves first_ ,” she emphasized each word as she glowered down at the miqo’te.

“Oh right! I’m C’oretta that’s Dark Autumn we’re friends of Aeryn’s. The Warrior of Light.”

The roegadyn pinched the wide bridge of her nose.

Hien smiled broadly. “I thought I recognized you as our esteemed friend’s companions. It is an honor to finally meet you.” He gave them a bow. Dark graciously returned the gesture, C’oretta following half a tick later. “Now, a favor, you say? Having to do, perhaps, with Mistress Aeryn?”

Dark nodded, a hand clamping on C’oretta’s shoulder before the younger woman could speak. “If possible, could you make a specific request for tomorrow’s Council meeting?”

“A favorite tea or something?” C’oretta blurted before he could ask for specifics.

“Tea?”

Dark’s fingers pressed a bit more on C’oretta’s shoulder. “Yes, my lord. You see, normally they serve wine at these meetings—”

“But that’s a bad idea because Aeryn hates it,” C’oretta interrupted again, prompting another long, drawn breath from Dark. Hien was suddenly reminded of Yugiri for some reason.

“I know I have seen Aeryn imbibe spirits before,” Hien pointed out, puzzled.

“But did you watch her?” C’oretta asked. “How she watches everyone else and doesn’t take her eyes off the bottle and who’s preparing the drinks?”

Hien opened his mouth, then paused, recalling the feast the night before the Nadaam. Aeryn had offered her help with the preparations, but seemed to mostly watch what the Mol prepared--especially the drinks. At the time, he had attributed her somewhat hawkish manner to nerves, given all the preceding events, and what they faced the next day.

“Also,” Dark continued in a lower tone. “Nanamo wasn’t there.”

“The Sultana of Ul’dah?” Hien asked. “What’s she got to do with it?”

“Her Grace was poisoned,” C’oretta said, tail thrashing and ears low. “Aeryn was in the room and accused of assassination because that was when the Scions were scattered and ran to Ishgard and then got tangled up in the Dragonsong War—”

“Where Aeryn herself was poisoned,” Dark interrupted this time, before C’oretta got into too much detail--or passed out from not taking a breath between words. “By those who disliked Aeryn’s role in the Archbishop’s death and the attempted peace with the dragons. Nothing serious, thank gods; they simply needed her out of the way for a time.”

“A lot of other things happened,” C’oretta said. “But the point is Aeryn has trouble with wine in formal settings or when important people are around, or…” she shrugged helplessly. It had the added effect of finally dislodging Dark’s hand.

“She’s protective,” Dark said. “But if there’s wine she will be tense all meeting and paying attention to naught but the glasses, or the bottles if she sees them. Matron forbid someone refills the Sultana’s cup.”

“She goes full on interrogation mode,” C’oretta said, almost solemn. Then brightened again. “So you see we figured if you maybe mentioned you wish for a favorite tea or something for the meeting just you know kinda off hand to see if they have it in stock…?”

Hien rubbed his chin. “Well it is customary for tea to be served at such meetings in Doma--with sake at the end when all are in accord...But I believe we can skip that particular tradition.” He grinned at the women.

“Thank you, my lord,” Dark said, giving another bow.

C’oretta looked up at Dark. “I told you he’d help.”

“And I still say asking Yugiri would have had the same effect,” Dark answered smoothly.

Hien laughed, returning Dark’s bow. “I’m pleased to help, truly!”

“Where _is_ Yugiri?” C’oretta asked, looking around--even up, at the shadowy beams of the ceiling. “I’d thought she’d be stuck to your side while not in Doma.”

“With the troops who could teleport with us,” Hien replied. “I assured her I would be safe enough here in the palace. Although...perhaps the two of you could do me a favor in return?”

“Sure!” C’oretta answered.

“Of course, my lord,” Dark replied, her gold eyes shooting daggers at C’oretta.

“I was actually relieved to see the two of you, so I could ask.” Hien grinned sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, might you help me find my way back to my quarters? I’m a bit...lost.”

“...Wait really?” C’oretta asked. The miqo’te beamed, and the next thing Hien knew her arm was hooked in his. “I can help you find your way back!” She said, tail lashing again, but her ears were perked forward.

“C’oretta—” Dark began.

“BYE Dark,” C’oretta said, pulling Hien along with her.

“Uh, I don’t wish to be trouble….” Hien said, walking along because really, what else was he to do?

“Oh no trouble at all this place is a maze I’m pretty sure it had something to do with the Mad King’s paranoia do you know the history I could tell you my friend the professor told me all about it…”

Dark stood in the hall, flabbergasted, as C’oretta led Hien, Lord of Doma, ally of the Eorzean Alliance, away and around the corner. She smacked her forehead. “I swear if she causes an international incident, I will tie her to a tree by her tail…”

The roegadyn sighed and turned away, her duty complete; the Elder Seedseer would be pleased. That was what mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _*C’oretta did not, in fact, create an international incident. Her fluffy little tail is safe. For now._


	26. Home

**_“Where do you come from?”_ **

The question was always asked, and she never really knew how to answer.

She had been born in Coerthas, a stone’s throw from the border with Gridania, the trees of the Twelveswood visible through breaks in the hills, the scent of the forest sometimes brought up by a rare southern wind. She had been very little, but had vague memories of not having other children to play with aside from her brother. Of Mother’s tight smiles in the face of rude comments; they bought her wares, but invite her to their homes, let their children play with hers? Out of the question, for both the Coerthans and Gridanians.

So after the dragons came, Mother bundled them up, scrimped and saved and screamed and finally even begged until they could get passage to return to her people, her home in the Near East. Where her children were strangers who never quite fit in, where other children made rude comments learned from their parents and wouldn’t play together. It took time for their step-siblings to warm to them, after everything their peers and other adults said about the Strikers’ foreign blood and appearance.

“When we’re grown, we’ll be adventurers,” Zaine said, nursing a black-eye gained while defending his little sister from a bully. “We’ll go home and they won’t turn us away.”

Aeryn hadn’t understood what that meant; home was with Zaine and Mother. She didn’t know why she ought to care about a place she could barely remember.

Then Zaine grew up, and left. He wanted to see his homeland, he said, and she had pouted and cried and argued but he was determined. “You’ll come join me, when you’re of age and through with studies.” Home was Aeryn and Zaine together--why couldn’t he see that?

He left, and home grew a little smaller. 

Mother’s illness took its toll, Aeryn’s world shrinking from her studies to the house and yard, to endless cleaning when not tending directly to her Mother. Until Aeryn hated the sight of the laundry buckets, the smell of a local disinfectant, when even her own alchemical set seemed an enemy to wrestle with each day.

Until the guilt about the relief at it being over sharpened the grief of her mama’s loss.

Widowed twice, her stepfather seemed a shadow of himself. The little house felt too large, but the trade caravans felt too crowded. She overheard a man at the market call her “Tanzel’s foreign girl” and Papa barely had the strength to correct him, his response more habit than anything. Aeryn remembered this wasn’t really home, either.

Her brother’s letters had stopped with the Calamity, but she didn’t know what else to do, except finally keep the promise to join him, to find their home together somehow, somewhere. So she said her goodbyes--tearful, heartfelt, frightened of the what ifs and unknowns--and returned to Eorzea.

They called her an outsider, a foreigner. She was just an adventurer, she couldn’t understand the intricacies of these people and their homelands. The worship of the Twelve was strange, a half-forgotten memory. She didn’t know what noble House, if any, her village had owed fealty to--it no longer existed, the Calamity finishing what the dragons started. None of them recognized her as belonging, and she felt no real kinship with that snow-covered corner of the realm, its people as harsh as their surroundings.

**_“We are the Scions of the Seventh Dawn.”_ **

She didn’t realize how much they had so quickly come to mean, until after the Praetorium. Until everyone was back, everyone was safe, the halls lit and filled with voices again after the dark, bloody silence of the raid.

She had never really thought of home as a _place_ ; it had always been _people_ that her heart decided she belonged with. As their adventures carried them across the realm and the world and back again, that only grew. Home was with the Scions.

When the Call came, her home was broken once again. But this time, she would cross time and space and do everything in her power to fix it.

She went to the First, and found her home.


	27. Chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _((Felina is Dark Autumn's doppelganger on the First, one of the Night's Blessed who helps the Scions when she can.))_

“Here,” Aeryn’s voice, from far away, though Felina knew the Warrior stood next to her. “This will help.”

Felina blinked through the disorientation, absently taking what Aeryn offered. “...Chocolate?”

Aeryn shrugged, sheepishly. “I don’t have one of our special brews on hand--didn’t think I would need them here.”

Felina wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but she nodded, taking a bite of crumbly chocolate stick. “This may be too rich for me,” she said. “We Night’s Blessed aren’t used to such treats.”

“I could too easily become used to them,” Aeryn admitted. “Have to keep the sweet tooth reined in.”

Felina nibbled on the treat a bit more, equilibrium returning. “Is it always like that?” She asked. “Is this what it means to be a Warrior of Light?”

Aeryn sighed. “It’s a part of it,” she answered. “The Echo is what was awoken by the star shower. It allows you to see the truth of men’s hearts. To understand the language of those with souls. To see the truth of the past--though not ever when you expect it.”

“Can it be controlled?” Felina asked.

Aeryn looked away, eyes scanning over the crowds at the Crystarium markets, though not really looking, either. She shook her head.

“I see. And this...gift...is what made your victories over the Lightwardens possible?”

Aeryn frowned in thought. “It...had a hand in that, yes. But I couldn’t have done it without everyone’s help, either.” She paused. “Without Ardbert.”

“That man, the one calling himself the Warrior of Light,” Felina said. “It’s not really him, is it?”

“No,” Aeryn said flatly. She made no attempt to hide her anger.

“What are you going to do about him?”

Aeryn shrugged. “We’re gathering information for now. He’s too dangerously unknown.” She shook herself and smiled up at Felina. “Feeling better?”

Felina nodded. “I hope this is something one gets used to easily.”

Aeryn looked away again. “I’m due to meet the twins. Speak to Master Matoya if you have any troubles with the Echo, and she’ll let me know.”

As the Warrior of Darkness walked away, Felina looked at the remaining nub of chocolate stick in her hand. She had the feeling she was going to be needing more in the future.


	28. Farewells

She was supposed to join the others for this mission to Carteneau. But first she stepped out of the Blue Badger gate again and made her way along the forest paths.

The day was sunny, light filtering through the leaves. Birds sang and insects buzzed, a light wind rustling the foliage. When she came to the river it danced and sparkled over the stones on its way through the Shroud. It was a lovely day.

The glade was quiet and peaceful. The scar on the Lifemend Stump was barely visible, careful conjury having been employed to repair the damage done by the Ixal’s blade. She arranged the fruit, stones, and water the way E-Sumi had described as proper for a rite of remembrance.

She sat on the edge of the Stump, arms around her drawn-up knees. No prayers came; only a melancholy calm.

“It ends where it begins,” he had told her after the victory against Baelsar and Ultima and Lahabrea. He had meant reporting to the Antecedent, formally finishing the mission. But the words always stuck with her for some reason. Perhaps the matter of fact way he had said it, paired with a relieved, tired smile.

She looked southeast over the trees. The glowing sphere was barely visible, reflecting the sunlight and pulsing with his aether as it held back disaster.

They had just found him again, but a few weeks ago. This wasn’t _fair._

“To win a war you must be willing to do whatever it takes.” It was easy to know it, even understand it. But no matter how many times she survived when others fell, it never became easier to feel it. She never wanted it to; she wanted it to _stop_.

Too many sacrifices. Too many losses. And with what had happened upon that Wall, there were only more to come.

"It ends where it begins,” he had said. For her it had begun here, in the Twelveswood. Fitting this part of the story should end here as well.

She stood, dusting wood dirt off her pants and hands. She had a job to do, to make the most of his final choice.

”Farewell, my friend.”


	29. Forgiveness

“I’m finally here, Fray.”

There was no response. Somehow, that seemed right.

Her hands were still stained, and always would be. But they no longer felt sticky with blood spilled in the name of justice. Grief still sat upon her shoulders, in her sword; it kept her grounded.

There had been so many mistakes. Things she could have done better, done differently. What ifs and if onlys. She let them go with the flower.

The lavender blew away on the cold wind, a tiny spot of color against the snowy backdrop quickly swallowed by distance and the setting sun turning the land a warm gold.

From the depths of the abyss came a familiar whisper:

_“We are the stories we tell ourselves...”_

“I forgive you,” she repeated, alone on the hillside.

It weighed as it should.


	30. Letter

“There you are, kupo! You’re a hard man to find!”

Thancred took a deep breath and slid his dagger back into its scabbard when he realized it was just a moogle suddenly bobbing a fulm from his head. “Apologies for that,” he said, not clarifying. He wasn’t even sure if the fuzzball realized how close she had come to losing her pom.

The moogle bounced, unperturbed. “The important thing is I found you and can do my duty!” She cheered, waving an envelope in his face. “Our deputy postmistress was very specific that this be handed to you personally, no leaving it in secret!”

Thancred blinked and took the envelope, uncertain what the moogle was talking about--until he saw the handwriting on the surface, the familiar slants and swirls of the letters of his name.

Of course; Aeryn had once gotten herself wrapped up in some postmoogle’s woes and ended up running a few dozen errands for them and the Seedseers. He recalled teasing her about the hat they’d given her for her help; she had proceeded to wear it for a time after just to prove she wasn’t bothered.

He had actually found it adorable on her, but wasn’t about to tell Aeryn that, not back then (even if Moenbryda had been merciless in her own teasing of Thancred, despite all protestation it wasn’t Like That; ah, he missed Moen).

“Right, thank you for the delivery,” Thancred said--before realizing the moogle was gone, or at least invisible again. He sighed and made his way to the old monk cell he had claimed for quarters in the wreckage of Rhalgr’s Reach.

The mood in the encampment was still subdued and somber, the last of the hasty funeral rites having been completed. Rebuilding was proceeding slowly and with a great deal of caution, Alliance soldiers supplementing Resistance personnel to keep guard and restock. Thancred was here to take over for Y’shtola--soon to be moved back to the Rising Stones--and for those who had gone to the Far East to cause trouble for the Empire there in the meantime.

Thancred sat on the narrow bunk where he’d tossed down his bedroll, leaning against the wall to open the letter. The ink was a dark blue, the paper an unfamiliar but fine texture. For a long moment he simply scanned his eyes across it, noting the familiar loops and lines of Aeryn’s handwriting filling the page, each letter neat and exacting, almost as if printed. She had apparently had a strict teacher at one point, who had taken offense to her negligent, childish scrawl, and so she had practiced to make her letters faultless out of sheer spite.

Come to think of it, annoying Aeryn to the point of rebellious compliance seemed to be a fair tactic.

He returned to the top of the letter and began to read in earnest, hearing the words in her voice.

> _“By this point you’ve received at least one of Alphinaud’s exhaustive formal reports that’s no doubt strained your eye already, but I still wished to share with you my own view of our travels and arrival in Kugane…”_

He had indeed read Alphinaud’s report, as he always did, and given a much shortened summary to the General and Y’shtola. Most of Aeryn’s details were the same, if written with more of a mind to entertain than inform, with a few different details here and there, though nothing contradictory.

He reached the end of the few pages she had sent--it was also much more concise than Alphinaud’s reports--and he frowned as he looked at the sweeping peak of the “A” at the start of her name. Simple, informal, and practically elegant. He returned his gaze to the top of that page to finish reading properly.

> _“Our talk in the Rising Stones before we left for Doma was all too brief but I enjoyed it greatly. I’ve_ (the ink blotted a little here, as if she had tapped her pen in thought before committing to the next carefully written words) _missed our longer talks and if you’ll forgive my saying so that felt comfortably like one of them. Too much has happened over the last year, but I wouldn’t mind more talks like that again in the future.”_

Thancred thunked his head back against the wall, taking a moment to watch the sun’s ray shift in angle and color through the little slit window, as it made its way westward.

He had missed those talks as well, and recognized his own fault in their ending, once he had returned from the wilderness. He was beginning to realize it wasn’t just frustration at his changed condition, nor anger and grief over Minfilia’s fate. He had heard the stories about his colleagues’ time in Ishgard, read reports, listened to the gossip and rumors...and had been jealous.

Jealous of the brief relationship Aeryn had with a good man who had been lost. Jealous of those who had been there for moons and now vied for her affections.

Absolutely, utterly ridiculous, but there it was. It had abated recently, between everything else that had happened, and then with those rare moments Thancred and Aeryn had the chance to talk and just spend time together, almost the way they used to.

And now here was her letter, penned separately from the reports, delivered directly, requesting more.

“Don’t read too much into it,” he muttered to himself. Yet even as he finished the letter, he couldn’t help but feel...almost giddy. Which was even more ridiculous.

His eye lingered over the closing: 

> _“Til next time,  
>  Aeryn” _

There was evidence of yet more hesitation, of beginning to write one thing, scratching it out, and replacing it with that simple, innocuous little phrase.

He would write a response; there were many things he had noted as wanting to tell her about anyway, from the amusing to the macabre that she would find of interest. And it would mean another letter in return…

Gods, he really was acting like a besotted schoolboy. Perhaps a talk with Y’shtola was in order, before she returned home. That would be a douse of icy logic on his mindset and get him back to a reasonable perspective.

In the meantime he folded the letter back into its envelope and tucked it into a pocket in his vest.


	31. Metamorphosis

Bremondt set the invoice on the counter. “An’ that should be the last of it.”

“Excellent,” Miounne answered, looking over the form before folding it and putting it in the drawer behind her counter. “Things have been picking up here since the lull in the fighting.”

“Best be on my way then,” the hyur replied with a teasing grin.

“Nonsense! There’s a bit of time for a meal--especially with a friend,” Miounne answered, looking past Bremondt, her expression brightening as she waved.

Bremondt turned and after a moment smiled as well, as Aeryn Striker crossed the main room of the Carline Canopy. Regulars--some native Gridanians, some adventurers--paused to watch her. A few obviously recognized her, elbowing their fellows and furtively whispering and watching. Others did not, their attention still caught by a confident adventurer in fine gear, striding over to the desk.

Aeryn nodded to them both. “Afternoon Miounne...Bremondt,” she said, taking a moment to look him over and making sure she had the right brother.

He chuckled. “Aye, it’s been too long, lass; ever since yer order moved out to Mor Dhona, we don’t see ye so often.” He sobered a bit. “Ah, speakin’ of, how’s Master Urianger an’ the others? Word’s been a bit scarce.”

“It’s...complicated,” Aeryn said with a bit of a helpless shrug.

“I can only imagine,” Miounne interjected. “I was just about to make this man sit for a proper dinner; why don’t you join us, Aeryn? You can tell us about your most recent adventures--what you can tell, anyroad.”

“‘Make’ she says,” Bremondt said to Aeryn. “As if anyone in their right mind needs convincin’ to eat Mother’s cookin’.”

Aeryn laughed and nodded her agreement, and they sat at a nearby table together, where she began to tell a few stories--first about her time in the Far East, freeing Doma from the Garleans, and then all that came after Ala Mhigo’s liberation.

By the time Miounne appeared with dinner, Aeryn was about to lapse into thoughtful silence again, debating what she could tell.

“If it’s classified, you don’t have to, no matter how much Bremondt demands,” Miounne said fondly, taking a seat and a plate for herself.

“It’s not that,” Aeryn replied with a shake of her head. She tucked back loose strands of black hair the motion had dislodged. “It’s just so….unbelieveable, and I lived it.”

“Epic, I believe is the term,” Bremondt said. “If it’s got someone as storied as you wonderin’ at it.” He chuckled at her smile and blushing.

That was still easy enough to do, but her smile was different; it was far from the only difference, he realized. The shy, almost awkward foreign girl he had shared a carriage with but a few short years ago had become the confident defender of the realm, power and a quiet weariness traced across her limbs and in the shape of her eyes and the curve of her smile.

_“Become the sort of storied personage I can brag about havin' met, an' I'll consider us square,”_ he had said to her, once upon a time. She had done all that and more, while he and his brothers had watched her career with interest. In many ways, the metamorphosis from that fledgling adventurer to hero of the realm was inevitable.

He still felt a bit of a crack in his heart. He wasn’t responsible for any of it--he had simply recognized her potential for greatness from the outset, how could one _not_ \--but at the same time, those words now haunted him, and he had a feeling they always would.


End file.
